


Black Sun Princess

by thenerdyindividual



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, M/M, Music, Revenge, Stregobor Gets His
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23225251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Geralt tells the tale of Renfri to Jaskier, and Jaskier does what he does best. He writes a bop.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 70
Kudos: 635





	Black Sun Princess

Geralt, more often than not, falls in line with Jaskier’s expectations of witchers. He’s strong, and silent. His hands have calluses from his swords, and from roughing it on the road. He rarely shows emotions, though it is less that witchers don’t feel, and more that they keep their emotions buried deep inside.

What no one could expect, is how tender Geralt is. Jaskier expected the first time they were together to be passionate, and rough. Instead, Geralt had taken his time. His large hands warm, and careful despite how rough his skin is. Then he’d held Jaskier close, as though worried Jaskier would slip through his fingers like so much water.

The most surprising by far is the fact that Geralt likes to be fucked just as much, if not more so than doing the fucking. Jaskier had resigned to his fate as a young man. He’s slim, and flighty, and everyone from the most demure village girl to the roughest of blacksmiths want to stick it in him. He doesn’t mind truly, he enjoys it, but variety is the spice of life, and all that. So getting to fuck someone as solid as Geralt, well, that is just a delight.

It’s on one such night that the thought comes to Jaskier. Geralt’s head is resting on Jaskier’s chest, and that is something else he’s noticed about Geralt, he always wants to listen to Jaskier’s heartbeat. It’s as if he wants to confirm for himself that Jaskier is alive and well. It’s a comforting weight, but after one too many dreams of drowning, they agreed that it was probably best if they didn’t go to sleep in that position. Jaskier is combing his fingers through Geralt’s hair, and Geralt occasionally rumbles his approval low in his chest. With how gentle and sometimes annoyingly ethical Geralt is, Jaskier simply cannot slot him into the title of Butcher of Blaviken. Even on Geralt’s worst days he has never been cruel.

So Jaskier does what he does best. He annoys Geralt.

“I was wondering…” Jaskier starts.

Geralt picks his head up from Jaskier’s chest, and squints suspiciously, “When you start a sentence like that it means trouble.”

“Not always,” Jaskier defends himself, then goes back to running his fingers soothingly through Geralt’s hair, “I was wondering about the title you were stuck with when we first met. I have known you almost a decade now, and not once have I seen you act remotely like a butcher. I suppose I wanted to know how you became stuck with such an ill-fitting reputation.”

Geralt shrugs, “I killed someone.”

“Yes. I got that much, Geralt, thank you.”

Geralt just grunts in response.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Jaskier allows, “But the man I know would not have killed without cause.”

There’s a few beats of silence, then Geralt shifts so his chin is resting on Jaskier’s chest, and he can look into his eyes, “Her name was Renfri.”

Haltingly, and with lots of prompting from Jaskier, Geralt explains the whole tale. How Stregobor approached him, and spewed bullshit about Renfri. How Renfri wasn’t really bad, but not really good either. Jaskier’s stomach turns when Geralt relates the part about the rape. There’s the tragic swordfight in which Geralt hoped to fight her just long enough to dissuade her, but turned into a fight for his life. The tragic fall of Renfri at the end, and the way Stregobor manipulated the crowd into believing Geralt the monster. 

Jaskier, for possibly the first time ever, is at a loss for words. He just strokes the back of Geralt’s neck comfortingly. All he says, when he can think of something, is “Stregobor is a piece of shit.”

That draws a chuckle from Geralt, and the tension of the moment is broken. Jaskier leans down, and kisses him. Then they shift about to settle into sleep for the night. As much as Jaskier would enjoy a second round, Geralt rises with the sun, and he doesn’t have the advantage of superhuman stamina to support him on the travel ahead.

*

The story of Renfri won’t leave his mind. Jaskier hasn’t exactly put his focus into singing about injustices, correcting Geralt’s reputation was the closest he’s come really. However, there’s something about this story that rankles him. The fact that Stregobor is still out there somewhere, functionally immortal thanks to his magically abilities, while Renfri is dead, and Geralt’s reputation continues to be fragile even with Jaskier’s help. That just won’t stand.

So Jaskier begins to compose.

His arms are wrapped awkwardly around Geralt as they ride, and the little stack of pages he clutches in one hand threaten to blow away at any moment. Still, he uses bits of charcoal to scratch out the lyrics before he can forget them. Geralt ignores his antics, as usual, and keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

“What rhymes with piece of shit?” Jaskier asks conversationally. He can feel Geralt’s suspicious squint even though he hasn’t turned his head.

“Why?”

“I’m composing. Now, what rhymes with piece of shit?”

“Pit.”

“Hmmm… Might work. Thank you, Geralt.”

*

‘The Tragedy of the Black Sun Princess’ debuts at a tavern roughly a month later. It is a scathing indictment of Stregobor, and all his acts of violence. For once, Jaskier does not exaggerate when it comes to the protagonists virtues. He does his best to describe Renfri as exactly as Geralt described her, and emphasizes the tragedy that drove her to such acts of desperation. He ends on a call to the villages to never let Stregobor rest easy again if he sets up shop nearby.

It spreads like wildfire, much to Geralt’s annoyance. 

Everyone unanimously agrees that Stregobor is a piece of shit. Jaskier has learned not to end on that song after the first few times. It causes too much anger. He sings it second to last so no one can forget it because he was only partly joking when he said he wanted Stregobor to have no rest.

*

Six months after the debut of the song, they stumble across a tavern. It’s run down, but it has stables for Roach, and it’s been an age since they had a solid roof over their heads. The coin is low, and the tavern-keeper regretfully explains he has no jobs for Geralt. So Jaskier offers to sing for room and board.

He finishes ‘Toss a Coin’, and is planning on launching into a rather smutty song about two women, and a piece of ribbon, when a voice echoes across the dining room. “Sing that one about the princess!” A cheer goes up in agreement.

Jaskier balances his lute expertly as he sings. Even exhausted, the tale draws a reaction from the crowd. Though there is a dark hooded figure in a back corner who hasn’t budged an inch this whole time. There’s a sense of danger about it, and Jaskier silently prays that Geralt comes back from tending Roach before his set ends.  
Jaskier keeps an eye on that figure the whole time, and even plays more songs than he intended just to keep it at bay. For as much as Jaskier is watching that figure, he knows it is watching him back.

Eventually the tavern-keeper has to usher Jaskier off the floor. Apparently the songs were disturbing the rest of the patrons’ upstairs in the rooms. Jaskier makes a beeline for the exit to the stables, hoping to slip out unnoticed, but no such luck.

The figure steps into Jaskier’s path, and hisses out “You!” in a rather accusatory tone.

“Sorry, did you not like the songs? I’m afraid there’s no refund, as you didn’t pay to see my performance. Now if you’ll excuse me.” but the figure stops him again.

“You’re the reason I am exiled, and mistreated.” The figure says, and Jaskier can just see inside the hood. An older man, pointed beard that could honestly uses a bit of a trim now, squinty blue eyes.

“I am sure that isn’t the case. Now I really must be getting back to my travelling companion.”

And it’s like the gods have heard Jaskier’s plea because the door swings open, admitting Geralt into the room. The hooded man turns, and there’s a second where recognition passes over both their faces. Then Geralt’s face twits in fury, and he draws his sword.

“Stregobor.” He growls, but in the quiet of the tavern it travels.

Twenty eyes turn to look at the situation they had previously been ignoring. They must look an odd sight. A bard, a witcher, and a sorcerer. Stregobor pivots, and yanks Jaskier to him, holding a hand menacingly to his throat. The magical energy crackles between his fingertips.

“Let him go, Stregobor,” Geralt intones, “You’ve ruined enough lives.”

“No. Your bard ruined my reputation. I intend to make him pay for that.”

Around them Jaskier can hear hushed whispers. Stregobor’s name slipping from person to person. The patron’s don’t sound happy. In fact of the faces he can see, given his precarious position, most seem just as angry as Geralt. Only Geralt can’t get a clean shot at Stregobor without hurting Jaskier. But the gentleman with an empty wine bottle in hand? He can.

The glass comes crashing down on Stregobor’s head from behind, and in a shower of glass, and blood Jaskier is released, He stumbles forward, and Geralt catches him, immediately whisking him out of the immediate danger.

Jaskier is fairly certain Geralt intended to run Stregobor through himself, but he never gets the chance. Like the rising of a wave, patron after patron rises from their seats, and goes after Stregobor with everything they have. Metal flagons, dinner knives, forks. The onslaught is unyielding, and it gives Stregobor no time to fire off a spell, especially with his head wound.

He scrambles passed Geralt, and Jaskier, and out the door into the night. The wave of patrons follow him, some shouting about justice for Renfri, others just spewing obscenities. Then the door bangs shut behind them, and as quickly as the chaos had risen it is over.

The tavern-keeper sets about sweeping up the shards of glass.

“What the hell just happened?” Geralt grunts.

“I’ve said it before, Geralt, music is its own magic.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come Visit me on tumblr for more Witcher! https://thenerdyindividual.tumblr.com/


End file.
